


Chasing Midnight

by doctor__idiot



Series: SPN Kink Bingo 2017 [6]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Bottom Dean, Desperation, Light Choking, M/M, Pre-Series, Prompt Fill, Rough Sex, Sibling Incest, Stanford Era, Top Sam, Wall Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-21
Updated: 2017-07-21
Packaged: 2018-12-05 04:13:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11570106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doctor__idiot/pseuds/doctor__idiot
Summary: “It’s not your fault, you know that, right?” Sam pleads, “I need you to know–I wouldn’t leave if I had a choice.”





	Chasing Midnight

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [SPN Kink Bingo](http://spnkinkbingo.tumblr.com/) square "Wincest".

“It’s not your fault, you know that, right?” Sam pleads, “I need you to know–I wouldn’t leave if I had a choice.”

Dean pants, “You do have a choice,” and he should be the one pleading, should be the one who’s angry, not be the one who’s got his back to the wall and his little brother’s hand wrapped around his throat.

Sam shakes his head, frantic, breathing hard, sweating and shaking somewhat fierce. His hair is wild, his eyes too wide and despite his eighteen years he’s absolutely terrifying.

Dean holds his ground. This is Sam, his Sammy, and it’s not like he wouldn’t ever hurt Dean, it’s that Dean’s never cared.

“I have to go–I have–“ Sam sobs and falls into him, crashing him into the wall, cutting off his air, and he’s developing a headache but he can deal with all that as long as it means that Sam will never let him go.

It’s hot, too hot in the small motel room, stifling, but it’s not just the heat outside and the broken A/C, it’s Dean’s heart _thumpthumpthump_ ing against the inside of his chest that is too tight and threatening to burst.

“I know,” he says, hoarse and quiet, “I know,” and Sam folds his arms around him and kisses him. It’s rough, all teeth and too much tongue and no coordination, but Dean holds on tight, tighter than he ever has, to Sam’s shoulders, his neck, his face, pressing against him just as Sam’s fingers are printing bruises into his skin. 

Sam rucks up Dean’s T-shirt, snakes his fingers into the waistband of his jeans and flicks open the button, rips open the fly and pushes until Dean’s pants and underwear are somewhere on the floor. Dean gasps. Nails are biting into his naked thighs as Sam hefts him up against the wall, crowds him in, uncomfortably coarse wallpaper against his back, and cages him in with his own jeans-clad hips.

Dean leaves streaks of bright pink across Sam’s back as he scrambles for something to hold on to, irritating the skin with his fingernails and he’s trying to make it hurt, wants Sam to ache as much as he is. They kiss again, just as sloppy and even more desperation and Sam jerks away with a gasp. 

“Dean, I need–“

Dean’s already nodding, “Yeah, yeah, always,” and Sam’s still completely clothed but he hikes Dean up higher around his waist, his own fly undone by now and it fucking _burns_ when he sinks his cock into Dean, only the barest hint of lube left from earlier, from before Sam broke Dean’s heart and set fire to their lives. Before the fight with John and before Dean ever thought Sam would leave him. Not Sammy, not now, not when–

He shouts when Sam nails his prostate on the first try. He’s eighteen and he’s got too much experience with this, it’s obscene and Dean is to blame for all of it. He corrupted his little brother all those years ago and now Sam’s leaving him and it’s no less than he deserves.

“Please, Dean, please, you have to–“ Sam sobs, “You gotta understand.”

His face is half-buried in the hollow of Dean’s neck and Dean lets his head tip back against the wall, letting Sam lick and bite along the line of his throat, hopes that all the marks will stay for a while, not caring who sees.

He bruises Sam’s biceps, his shoulders, nearly draws blood with his nails and he wishes he could make it permanent, brand Sam in a way that says _mineminemine_ , ruining him for everyone else because Dean’s a selfish bastard like that.

“Please,” Sam says again and Dean hiccups, “Yeah, Sammy, I understand.”

He does, he does, it just doesn’t help with the pain of it, but Sam slumps against him, his palms shaking where they are pressed flat against the underside of Dean’s pale thighs. Carrying Dean’s entire weight can’t be easy despite his growth spurt in the past year, but Dean doesn’t think that’s it. He cards his fingers through Sam’s hair, almost gentle, almost soothing, but then Sam starts moving again, for real this time, and Dean fist his hand in the brown strands and pulls. 

Mouths clashing, Dean can taste coppery blood, not knowing who it’s from. He lets Sam’s strength support him, surround him, moves in sync with Sam’s thrusts as best as he can, gritting his teeth against the sting of every hard in-stroke.

“Harder, c’mon,” he bites, wants to feel it for days to come, because it might be the only thing of his brother’s that he’ll get to keep, at least for a bit. Hell, he doesn’t know if he will ever see Sam again after tomorrow. Doesn’t know if he wants to. If Sam wants to.

Sam growls, hands gripping harder, fingers digging deeper, adding to all the bruises and sore spots Dean can already feel coming on. Dean moans, breathes into his brother’s mouth, lets Sam bite his bottom lip.

It’s over too soon, too soon that he can feel the tell-tale spill of Sam’s orgasm inside of him and he closes his eyes, savoring the last few thrusts Sam gives before stilling, and lets himself reach climax, friction against Sam’s clothed stomach. It’s not much but he’s been ready to come for so long, practically since the minute Sam shoved him into the wall.

“When–” he begins, chest heaving, “When are you leaving?”

Sam looks at him, his hair even messier than it was before. “As soon as I can,” he says and it sounds almost casual, clinical, nothing left of the boy who what pleading with Dean to understand him just a moment ago.

They’re both still trembling, aftershocks and emotions, and Dean wiggles his hips a little, dislodging Sam until he can get his feet under him. He’s still got his arms wrapped around Sam’s shoulders, not trusting his own legs completely yet.

“Stay with me,” he says, “Can you stay with me tonight?”

He doesn’t think he’s ever asked that, never wanted to, but he isn’t ashamed of anything right now, not anymore. Sam will be gone tomorrow and there is no point.

Sam licks his lips, leans in to nuzzle Dean’s temple. It’s too intimate, too familiar and Dean pulls back. Sam brushes his thumb up against Dean’s cheekbone, smearing hot salty wetness and that’s when Dean notices he’s been crying for a while. He licks it off his own lips, closes his eyes as Sam cups his palms around his face.

“Yeah,” Dean hears, rough, rougher than he expected, and it’s a small consolation that this seems to be as hard for Sam as it is for him, “I’ll stay the night.”


End file.
